A Study In Nightmares
by TheGoodDirector
Summary: John's concerned about the severity of Sherlock's nightmares, which the detective wakes from, screaming and breathless, nearly every night. Angst/Angst/Angst. Rated T for said Angst. Mentions of Redbeard's origin... I'm so, so sorry. I was listening to music and had a craving for nightmares, wound up with this. Again, sorry! Not sorry. Enjoy the Angst!


The Nightmares were written in time to the following songs.

1. Sleepwalking - Bring Me The Horizon

2. Everbody Wants To Rule The World - Lorde

3. Waltz, for Mary and John - Sherlock Holmes

1.

The warehouse was dark and the echo of his footsteps in the empty room uneased him like nothing else ever had. He looked around, waiting for some sort of sign to tell him that he wasn't alone and just as he was about to turn his back, there he was. John, strapped to a chair, a dozen red sniper lazers pointed at his chest. What scared Sherlock more than the snipers, was the fact that John was strapped in a semtex vest, just like that night at the pool all those years ago.

"Bet you never saw _this _coming." John called out.

Sherlock tried to call back, to try and tell him he was going to be alright but if he knew if he moved, he'd be shot. And every time he opened his mouth, he felt like he was swallowing chlorine. He was choking and the chemical tang overwhelmed him. His eyes watered over as John sat there and watched him drown, swallowing more and more water. Gasping, gagging and desperate for air.

"Sherlock, it's alright." John's voice echoed.

And suddenly, he was by Sherlock side, cradling him in his arms, his strong hands on his chest and forcing the water out of his lungs.

"Sherlock, come on, wake up!"

Sherlock's eyes snap open and he's in bed, gasping like he'd been held underwater all his life. Grasping at the pillows and at John who, he's only just registered, is sitting by his side, wide eyed and concerned. He heaves, his heart racing, soaked in sweat as he's uncomfortably twisted in his sheets

"You're alright, Sherlock." John assures. "You were dreaming."

Sherlock gasps, his hands gripping at John's shirt.

"Shhh, easy. It was just a dream. We're here at Baker street, you're here in your room, see? You're safe."

_No, you're_ safe. Sherlock swallows. He sits up, his body shaking.

"Just breathe. Deep breaths." John orders quietly in darkness of the room. "I'll make some tea."

Later that day, they're both at Scotland Yard with Lestrade finishing up some paperwork from their last case. As they sit in the D.I's office, John can't help but notice the silent detective staring blankly at the wall. He doesn't press the matter. Even if Sherlock wanted to talk about it, he probably wouldn't.

2.

A cold wind caresses Sherlock's face as he looms over the edge of St. Bart's roof, admiring the city of London. When he looks down, a crowd of frightened people stare up at him, gaping, pointing and among them, stands a dark figure in sunglasses. His phone rings in his pocket and when he answers it, that familiar, soft spoken, sing song voice sends chills down his spine.

"Did you miss me?" Moriarty whispers.

"How are you still alive?" He manages.

"Turn around, Sherlock."

"Answer me."

"Turn around."

Sherlock turns slowly, afraid of what might stand behind him. What he's faced with causes his heart to beat faster. John is sitting in his armchair a few feet away, smiling and perfectly content as if he were back at the flat instead of on the roof top with him.

"John?"

John says nothing.

"What is this?" Sherlock spits, trying to hide his terror behind disgust as he stares down at the pavement.

"See, Sherlock, you have to make a choice now." Moriarty drawls. "Save John Watson, or save yourself."

"What does that mean?" He snarls.

"You're the consulting detective, Mr. Smarty Pants. Figure it out."

"I've saved him before. I can do it again."

"Prove it." Jim chuckles.

Sherlock turns around to look over at John again, still just sitting there with a smile on his face. Only this time, he has tears running down his cheeks.

"Don't cry, John. You're safe now."

"It's alright, Sherlock." John says happily. "Go on. Save the life."

He nods, taking one last glance over the edge. And without a second thought, he's tossing his phone to the side like he'd done before, stretching his arms out like wings and letting gravity pull him off the side of the building. No airbags waiting for him at the bottom this time.

The fall goes on and on and on and he's screaming. "JOOOHN! JOOHN!"

But it's like he's shouting through cement and clawing at nothing as his voice is forced back inside him. No sound tears from his throat, his words are lost in the air as he falls forever. And all the while, he can hear John screaming his name, just like the first time he watched him fall.

Time stops when his back finally hits the pavement and the impact feels, blissfull. His eyes swim around for a moment, taking in the cold, grey sky. When suddenly, Moriarty is kneeling over him, placing a mobile by his ear while his hot blood pools around him.

"Sherlock! Can you hear me?" John screams, his voice sounding far away through the device. "It's just another one of your magic tricks, Sherlock! Wake Up!"

Sherlock snaps awake with a sharp breath. Tears sting his eyes and he tastes salt on his tongue as he chokes out a few gasping sobs. He's aguely aware that he'd just been screaming, his chest heaving and on the verge of hyperventilation.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, look at me." John says sternly, kneeling over him. "You have to calm down."

He's laying in bed and John's sitting by his side, his good shoulder holding his mobile against his ear. "No, yeah, he's awake now. He'll be okay. No, I've got him. Yeah, thanks."

"John?" He breathes raggedly.

"Yeah, it's me, mate. You alright?"

"I'm-" He looks around and out his window. It looks like light's about to break just outside Baker street. He tries his best to compose himself. "Sorry, yes, I'm fine."

John looks at him sadly, unsure, but goes off to make some tea anyway.

Molly texts him later that day saying that Sherlock won't answer her texts about a fresh corpse. When John suggests that they head to St. Barts to check it out, Sherlock just grabs his coat and leaves. He contemplates calling Mycroft and making him aware of Sherlock's strange behavior but let's it go when the detective returns the next morning as if nothing happened.

3.

John leads Mary to the dance floor .

Sherlock is a bit shaky as he readies his violin and props up the sheet music for John and Mary's first dance.

The Waltz he spent three months on while he sulked around the dark flat, alone. While he stood by that window, bow to strings and imagined John was there every night to hear him play. Hoping that he would understand that every note conveyed the instant he walked into St. Bart's to the very moment they saw each other again for the first time in two years.

As they dance, he finds himself weeping silently. John will leave him, never knowing that this is a composition from a heart he saved. A heart Sherlock never knew he had. This is for his best friend, the man who changed his life forever. And his new wife...

Sherlock looks up and notices that Mary's no longer wearing her wedding dress. But the black suit she wore when he found her in Magnussen's office, and his coat on top of that. She dances with her arms around John, a pistol pressed flat against the small of his back as her head rests on his shoulder. The doctor hasn't the slightest clue, he's lost in the bliss of love and the beginning of a normal life. And Sherlock can't move, he's rooted to floor, unable to warn him of the assassin in his arms. His hands stay firmly in place and continue to play, forcing him to finish the song. When it's over, he can move again and runs over to the bride and groom, but stops short at the sight before him. Together they stand with a gorgeous, blonde baby girl with the brightest blue eyes he's ever seen. Mary lays a hand on his shoulder and offers him a sincere smile as she brings the gun up, level to his chest.

"Weddings aren't really your thing."

She pulls the trigger and everyone around them erupts in cheer as fireworks explode overhead. Blood blossoms across his shirt but he feels no pain, only a heavy weight pulling him down as he watches John rock his daughter in his arms, beautiful smiles on both their faces. Their joyous laughter rings in his ears as he sinks to his knees and leaves the wedding early.

The sounds of his own soft gasping whimpers wakes him this time. He sits up in the darkness of the sitting room. He'd fallen asleep on the couch. A few small hics escape his chest, his body trembling as he buries his face in his hands. He doesn't notice John watching him quietly from his armchair as his tears slide down his wrists.

Sherlock spends the rest of the day standing by the window holding his violin. He doesn't play a single note. John doesn't leave the flat for percautionary measures.

They're at a crime scene a week later.

Lestrade's busy cuffing the suspect and shoving him into the back of a squad. John's just got back with coffee when he sees Donovan trailing behind Sherlock, shouting abuse, going on about how 'there's a correct way to apprehend someone, you can't just barge in, freak!'

"I suggest you lay off my work strategy, Donovan." Sherlock snaps, backing her up against a car. "The assistance I've delt this station has gone far beyond _anything_ anyone _here_ has yet to accomplish. The recognition and praise this yard has gained is a result of _**my**_ affluence! You'd be nothing without me and yet you find it perfectly acceptable to piss on and disrespect my abilities as a detective! Why? I'm not a machine, Sally! I spent the last three years trying to prove that I'm human like the rest of you mindless swine! So do yourself a favor when in my presence, keep your mouth shut and fuck off!"

Everyone, including John, stares at the pair from a distance, silent and stunned at the detective's furious outburst. Sally stares back at him wide eyed and before she can open her mouth to apologize, Sherlock staggers. John makes his way to him just as his knees give out and he collapses in the street.

"Christ. Sherlock?"

"John, get me back to the flat." He replies weakly.

The doctor looks to Lestrade and the D.I gives them the go ahead. John helps the detective into a cab and they make their way back home.

Once they're in the sitting room, Sherlock sets himself down on the couch quietly.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

"I've lost count. But I believe it's been a little over a week."

"Jesus, Sherlock. You're making yourself sick."

"You don't say."

"I know it's the nightmares."

Sherlock says nothing. John shifts on his feet.

"You can talk to me, Sherlock. I have them too, you know."

"I know. I've heard you at night."

John nods and takes a deep breath as he takes a seat next to his friend.

"You wake up screaming." Sherlock adds.

"So do you."

"You still dream of the war."

"Not always."

The detective looks at him confused.

"Sometimes it's the war. And sometimes-" John swallows and laughs. "Sometimes I see you on that bloody roof. Most nights I try to keep Mary from murdering you."

Sherlock blinks away his shock and takes a deep breath.

"When I was a boy, my parents surprised me with a month old Irish Setter. Though Mycroft persisted, they allowed me to call him Redbeard. He was my first bestfriend."

John nods, a faint smile on his lips as he imagines a young Sherlock playing in the den of his family home with a puppy. Happy and free from the world of ignorance he knows now.

"I'd take him out into the woods by our house and we'd walk for hours. He'd chase hedgehogs while I collected various fungi. I'd let sleep with me in my room every night."

Sherlock swallows and seems to crush under his own weight.

"Redbeard was hit by a car when I was fifteen."

"Oh, Sherlock... I'm- "

"I can't remember what it was that had upset me that day, but I remember wanting to be alone. My parents were gone, Mycroft was at work and I locked Redbeard out of the house. Less than ten minutes had passed before I heard car tires sliding on the asphalt outside. The driver was a young woman. When she saw me run out of the house, she began to cry and that's when I heard him whimper. My parents came home that moment to find me trying to pull his body out from underneath the car. They tried to pull me away, they tried to calm me down as I screamed that Redbead was still alive. That he was in pain and I couldn't help him. By the time they moved the car there was nothing they could do. Redbeard hung on for hours, bleeding and crying while I wept in my mothers arms inside. My father said he would stay with him until he passed but in the end, he had no choice but to put him down himself."

John wipes away a few stray tears and Sherlock looks at him.

"I had nightmares for the next two years and fter that, I detached myself. The nightmares stopped because I never allowed myself to love anything or anyone ever again. Until now."

Suddenly, Sherlock's wrapping his arms around John and John finds himself returning the tight and much needed embrace.

"I'm not dead, Sherlock." John whispers in his ear. "You haven't lost me."

"But knowing that there's a possibility I could- " Sherlock's voice wavers. "I have to be able to save you, John. How do I manage that when you're gone?"

"I haven't gone anywhere you git." John assures. He takes Sherlock's shoulders and cups his cheek in a comforting manner. "Hey, look at me. As long as you're okay, I'll be okay. Okay?"

Sherlock smiles weakly and shakes his head, a tear falls. "Okay."

"I'll stay here as long as you like. I won't leave you. I'm never going to leave you. But right now, you need to get some rest. I'll be damned if you don't get at least three days of sleep."

"But I- "

"No. I'm caling Lestrade and telling him you need a bit of time off. Trust me, I know he'll understand."

"Would you stay with me?"

John stops, his fingers a touch away from dialing Lestrade.

"By my side I mean... at least until I-"

"Oh, no, yeah. Of course."

John shoves his phone back in his pocket as they walk to Sherlock's room.

"I'll just call him tomorrow."

That night, Sherlock sleeps, his dreams free from nightmares with John by his side.

And John can't help but wonder what's in store for their future as he watches Sherlock's calm face in the darkness. His heart both steady and erratic as their hands lie entwined between them.


End file.
